I've come a long way to recline my head upon your fulsome bosom while we watch Romeo and Juliet in the dark in our classroom where we met long ago.
Zeffirelli was our teacher of sorts but I knew nothing of love at that time, only fourteen and expected to score with whomever a young bovine fancies.
You smoked Camel Lights, not your typical teenage sun-bleached buxom beach-bunny blonde, but a hard-rockin' long-haired head-banger wet for The Lizard King of Le Marais.
My dark-brown skin floated gently over your jean jacket, until our teacher told me to take my own seat, but as a punk, indignation arose unrequited.
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